The Compromise
by rose125
Summary: When Mr Darcy meets a young lady at a ball in London, the evening takes twists and turns they neither would have expected. (This is a prequel to Of Compromise – you might want to pop over to my profile and read that first, but it functions as a stand alone too!)
1. Meeting

Hey! Thanks for giving my story a try. You might want to read my one-shot _Of Compromise_ first, but either way around, one will be a spoiler for the other. I'd love feedback if you want to interact :)

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Mr Darcy frowned. It seemed that each ball he went to was more full than the last. Each ballroom filled with so many grasping ladies that you couldn't turn around without finding a new one hanging off your elbow. As if to prove his own point, he tripped on a foot – a wallflower he hadn't noticed in his angry striding.

The lady turned up an amused face. "You must forgive me, kind sir, for inopportuning your feet. Most unintentionally done, I must assure you. It is just," she sighed dramatically, "Mine have always been _so very large_ and, well, there is little I can possibly do to mitigate that fact, except hold my breath as people walk past."

He bowed stiffly.

"Oh," She continued, her eyes laughing at him, "I see that you are uncomfortable. We have not been introduced. But, come now good sir, you cannot pick and choose your sensibilities. Either you stand wholly on ceremony and neither speak to nor trip over-" at this point she raised an eyebrow in teasing challenge "-young ladies of little consequence, or you wholeheartedly engage in both."

"You cannot- I did not- That is to say," he swallowed, "you are not of little consequence."

She lifted her chin a little in defiance, "Oh, with four sisters, no dowry, and a small estate entailed away, I think I can assure you that I am of _very_ little consequence."

Mr Darcy flinched.

"Oh no, you are uncomfortable again" The young lady observed, genuine concern playing across her face, "I'm very sorry. I suppose it was rather crass of me to begin with the size of my dowry – I should have worked up to it, starting with a vague and aggrandizing description of our pigs, and inching up to the cold, hard figures." She bit her lip to hide a smile, then – with wide, innocent eyes – added, "that is how it's done in town, is it not?"

"Are pigs of particular concern to you, madam?" She could not decide if he was puzzled and reluctantly participating, or genuinely enjoying her company. She resolved not to reflect on the matter any further than constituted her happiness, and so settled on the assumption that he was enjoying himself as much as she was.

"Not of _particular_ consequence," she replied thoughtfully, although with a hint of teasing smile beneath, "but of some consequence insofar as they support my own self-image." At this she laughed, wrinkling up her nose in an endearing, although highly inelegant, manner.

"Your self-image, madam?" His confusion was evident, although he had attempted to hide it – to appear playful instead.

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "You have surely observed that I am more than unusually plain, no-" She held up a hand to forestall his interruption "-I will not allow you to be polite, sir. Let us, in the manner of our whole acquaintance thus far, be unfashionably candid." She paused dramatically. "I am the ugly duckling in a family of country gems. Quite honestly, sir," She added, with no trace of self-pity or design, "they are all very beautiful."

It was true that she was not unusually beautiful, but she was certainly more pretty than plain. Mr Darcy, obedient to her instruction to candidness, charged her with that.

"Oh, yes," she replied, laughingly, "you have found me out. I prefer to exaggerate my plainness in order to draw compliments, rather than face up to being only _the least pretty of several very pretty girls._" She laughed again, inelegantly and delightfully. "And so the pigs make excellent companions, bolstering me to the most pretty of an unforgivable selection of faces."

He smiled in spite of himself. And then frowned, scowled in fact.

"Oh," She seemed disappointed, "you are unhappy again. Do you dislike pigs particularly?"

He grabbed her hand, almost pulling her toward the centre of the room with a slight look of panic in his eyes. "No, but I do dislike- there is a slight acquaintance of mine I would wish to avoid." He sounded almost apologetic, and a little flustered.

The lady looked around obviously, and artlessly, clearly enjoying the drama immensely. "And you intend to- Oh!" She recoiled slightly, "You don't intend to dance? With me?"

Praying that her reaction was to joining an already-formed set, and not to having to dance with him, Mr Darcy pulled her forwards again. "I most certainly do."


	2. Dancing

His partner was charming. Mr Darcy was delighted, if a little discomposed, by the last half hour. Never had he enjoyed a ball so much – never had he danced a second set with the same woman for the pure pleasure of it. They had talked, of much and of nothing, somehow skirting the personal while encompassing the profound.

"Sir," the lady whispered, jolting him from his reverie. "I don't know the steps." She looked somehow both pained and amused; Mr Darcy was thrilled. Never had he met someone quite so pleased by the ridiculous, quite so pleasing during the ridiculous.

"And," She continued, contemplative, "I begin to doubt you are wise." Mr Darcy, who had abandoned the notion that he was wise the very moment they had met (for a wise gentleman would not let his heart – and his hopes – soar in such a trifling acquaintance), remained silent.

"You want to know why, don't you?" She teased, "I can tell by the severe look on your face, and the tight aloofness of your bearing."

He sighed, and, feeling very brave, admitted, "I am not much accustomed to flirting- that is, to talking with handsome- with young women, new to my acquaintance. To-" He gestured around, "-dancing so much, and conversing while doing so." He was rewarded with a radiant smile. Emboldened, he added, "I have not the charms of so many of my friends. Would that I were as agreeable as my cousin."

The young lady looked almost as though she were about to say something kind, but changed her mind. Instead, gaily, "And what do you lack that your cousin has? Certainly not height, nor presence," She continued to muse out loud, "and, if I am not stupid, not money, either."

He looked as though to speak, but had not yet had time to formulate a witty retort. She continued, more gentle and encouraging now, "You have a kindness to you, if a little masked by shyness. I suspect that you are held back more by dislike for the exertion than by any lack that you claim."

"But my cousin," he countered, "is a man of the world. I am not."

"He is older than you?"

"Better travelled. He is a colonel."

She raised an eyebrow and brought a hand to her chin. They had somehow slipped out of the set, as the conversation – or was it the conversation partner? - became more demanding of their attention. "I would like to see physical evidence of this."

With her lovely eyes, and the challenging cock of her head, she intoxicated him. Of course, he did not know it. It was the rational thing to do, surely, to affirm his partner's intelligence; the bold – the flirtatious – thing to do, to comply with her mock-challenges. Almost without noticing the transition, they found themselves in the library. The ball had long ago lost all appeal for them; if, indeed, it ever held any.

The atlas provided at least a quarter of an hour's dispute; and the globe allowed the lady to showcase her penchant for the ridiculous, stretching the discussion to almost half an hour. Finally, as though waking up from a pleasant dream, Mr Darcy recalled himself.

"We should return, to the ball." He wished he were better at reading people. Was it disappointment writ in her face?

Mr Darcy, however, had no opportunity to reflect. He – or she – who could tell? – had shut the door on the way in. A thoughtless action, endearing almost: to have been so lost in the pleasant company as to have forgot oneself. And no serious problem – except that it had since jammed shut, and defied every effort to open it.

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Thanks for all the kind reviews so far! Let me know what you think - what more do you want to hear about them? Are the chapters too short? Too unrealistic?!


	3. Realising

Fitzwilliam Darcy cursed the day he was born. What a lumbering oaf! What foolish idiot would forget himself and allow such a situation to unfold? The slight quake of his lady's hands endeared him to her immensely – to be sensible, and brave, in such a situation! - but also plunged him into deeper guilt. The probable consequences once they were found hung heavy and unspoken between them.

"I am not certain-" He began, but broke off in confusion. "I do not know what is best. To be found now, or to be found later."

She moved closer, a subconscious show of camaraderie. A heavy sigh. "Is there really no way of escape?"

He leaned his head against the door, breathing, thinking. Finally, "I cannot imagine there is, if there were, we surely would have found it by now."

"And you're sure we couldn't break a window?" That drew a smile from him. She had bounced like a small child when she first proposed it. Itching, she said, to see him throw a chair through the glass. The moment's comic relief had lifted his heart.

"The noise, the mess," he said, "would succeed in only making us disliked as well as disgraced."

"You don't think," her eyes were laughing at him, "that we could _run _– adventurously, you understand: not like cowards – and jump into a passing cab?"

He stifled a smile. She was indomitable. He could only hope that it would serve her as well in reality as it did in her flights of fancy. "A delightful suggestion, but I am not in the habit of breaking my hosts' windows," he adopted an awkward attempt at a flirtatious smile, "even to bring thrills to handsome young women."

She bestowed upon him the regal smile of a queen condescending to respond to a minor nobleman. Then, archly, "I shall accept that answer, for now, but do not imagine I am by any means satisfied." She raised an eyebrow, "you must consider yourself henceforth in my debt."

He struggled for words, his mouth dry, "It is nothing less than an honour to be indebted to you." Did she know how her teases thrilled him?

She cocked her head. The muffled noises outside the door had changed. "The end of dinner? We should attract attention before the dancing resumes and masks our cries for help."

"Too late." The gentle strains of the final dance floated to them. He sighed. He had done badly, worse than he had ever done before, but he could at least carry it off with grace. "My lady," He entreated, holding out his hand.

"Elizabeth," She whispered.

"_Elizabeth_," He breathed, then gently, tenderly as he could, "Would you do me the _very great honour_ of dancing this final set – our third?"

The significance of the moment was not lost on Elizabeth. She swallowed, her eyes shimmering. But, resolutely, she took his hand.

"Well done," he whispered soothingly, "that's my brave darling."

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I'm sorry for anyone who was rooting for a Darcy-Mary match; I enjoyed that suggestion, but this lady was always destined to be Elizabeth! I've loved all your insightful reviews. I will be back with more, but if you're craving something longer, check out Marry in Haste: (not very long yet, _but..._) that one is due to be developed quite significantly!


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